The Five Senses of James, Logan, Howlett
by Su-Whisterfield
Summary: "I believe in nuthin'— never have, never will. What matters is what I can see, hear, taste, smell, touch. Tangible things, physical things, reality. The rest is imagination." Two bodies, five senses, quite a lot of sex.
1. Chapter 1 Videre

**Videre**

Yeah, yeah, he looks weird. So what? We're all misfits here.

Ya' wouldn't believe how quickly you forget though, when ya' see someone day in, day out, you stop noticin' that they have green hair. Or red eyes. Or that they can fly. So watching other people's reactions to him can be /Oh yeah, he's blue. He's got a tail. He's a fuzzy freak. I forgot. It seems so important to some folks, but why? What harm does it do to anyone else, that he's the colour of the early evening sky?

To my eyes, he's beautiful.  
I love watching him move in the gym, so damn graceful, particularly when he's not aware he's being watched. He's such a ham, such a show off, give him an audience and The Incredible Nightcrawler will be there, all theatrical flourish and pizazz. But when he's alone, when he's just being Kurt, when he moves just for the joy of it, that's poetry in motion. Combine the power of an Olympic athlete with the grace of a _Cirque du Soleil _performer and you're getting there. The concentration must be incredible but he makes it seem effortless.

When he dismounts and lands, he's breathing hard, that was a good workout, he's in a bit of a lather, like a thoroughbred after a race. Clean sweat. I lick my lips. Yeah, I'd very much like to lick that foam off.

He makes me hard, just watching him from the back of the control booth, it's five in the morning, no one else is mad enough to be up at this hour, but the place is crawling with monitors and security cameras. I might be an idiot, but I'm not stupid.

By the time I get down to the changing rooms, he's stripped off the soaked layers of expensive gym kit, nothing but the best for our boy, you'd not believe how much some of that shit costs, all custom, all made for him. Chuck can afford it, can afford to keep him.

He's not in the showers yet, he's sat on a towel on the bench, his back to me. He's no longer out of breath, he's tremendously fit, but I smile as I watch him. I know what you're doing, bad lad.

The sheen of white sweat, across the broad planes of his back, picks out the muscles under the fur. Gorgeous back. He's not over muscled, not like some of the guys. Being an acrobat is a balancing act between the weight of the muscles and the power. If he gets too heavy, he's less effective, but he has to have the strength, to do what he does.

And right now what he's doing is jerking off in the locker room, into a sock, like guys have always done. My precious, precocious lad, underneath that blue velvet, he's just the same as the rest of us. Oh, he can be a pissy little madam, if you let him, so sometimes I take him away for the weekend, give him a damn good seeing to, it makes everyone's life a bit easier. Freshly fucked, Kurt's a sweetheart. No need to thank me, Scotty.

The harsh overhead lights don't do him justice. He's better by candlelight, the warm glow echoing his golden eyes. He's astonishing by moonlight. Unearthly. A sculpture in blue and silver. I've had him by both. Fucked him, warm, wet and willing in the cool moonlight. Oh, yeah. Unearthly.

But, under the neon strip, at least I get to see it all, the glorious details, as his shoulder muscles move to the tempo of his hand. He's working himself quite slowly, confident that no one else is about; footsteps echo loudly on the hard floor, he thinks he'd hear someone else coming in. So I move carefully, silently until I can see more. See his hand moving. See his peach of an ass rocking slightly on the towel, rubbing his balls against the bench. Oh, yeah, go for it, baby.

I touch my own cock through my sweats, I've been been hard since I was watching him work out, leaking a damp patch at my sweats. He puts both hands on the bench beside him, he's working himself with that talented tail now. Kurt very much likes his unique body, and is very, very good at knowing how to make it happy.

His head drops back, fists braced on either side of his ass cheeks. Muscles clench, relax, move smoothly under the fur. His breathing gets faster, the rhythm of that wicked tail increasing, moving the fabric of the sock, milking himself.

Fuck, he's hot.

I rub myself in rhythm with him. Go on, lad. Ah, yeah. Just look at ya' fuckin' gorgeous. Sweat glistens on the indigo fur, he gasps, arching his flexible spine so all the back muscles move as one and then he's coming, he snaps forward, hisses through his teeth to try and keep it quiet. Not known for keepin' things quiet, our Kurt, but see, he can if he tries. I cream my sweatpants a couple of strokes later, ah, what a glorious view, ain't nothing prettier.

He takes a couple of deep breaths, shakes out those broad shoulders. After a minute, he bends, giving me a glorious view of his tight ass and hanging cock and balls and picks up his damp kit, including the sock; he'll wash them himself, considerate, and good about cleaning up after himself. An' hidin' the evidence.

He disappears in a crack of displaced air and gush of sulphurous smoke; why slum it in communal showers when you can have the luxury of your own bathroom?

Wonder if he wants me to go up and scrub his back?


	2. Chapter 2 Audire

**Audire**

Can't do dirty talk, my boy can't. See, normally, ya can't shut him up. Can prattle on about anything, to anyone, usually with a smile on his pretty face. Drives me up the fuckin' wall.

Oh, he starts out chatty, but soon you get him hot, get him horny, he loses it, it's all gasps and groans and sighs. He sounds, well, like a feckin' girl, but it's also hot as hell 'cos you can tell how much he's enjoying it.  
Wonder what he's like in the sack with one of his pretty girlfriends? He's gotta talk then? Or is he the strong, silent type? Nah, Kurt's the charmer, he talks them into bed, I know he does, so he'll talk to em' in bed too. But when it's just us, it's all in his eyes, his body language and those soft, sweet little noises.

He'll talk about anything, he'll happily talk about sex. But not during. He's the confidant of the teen kids at The Mansion, they like him 'cos he don't judge people, don't care if they're gay or whatever. He'd have never made a priest; bein' celibate wouldn't have suited him but he'd have been good at the understanding shit. He don't judge folk. Not even me. And he knows what I am.

We're sat on the huge leather sofa in the lounge, it's late, the place is quiet, but it's still pretty public, by our standards. An' those damn kids, they just get everywhere. I was watchin' the hockey, but it's finished. I turn the tube off, he's not interested in hockey, I think the only sport he really likes to watch is football, soccer. He's usin' my leg as a back rest while readin' some book or other. Learned long time ago not to ask what it's about, 'cos he'll tell ya'. Particularly dangerous, those old books with the orange an' white cover with a duck or summat' on them. Oh, he'll tell ya' _all_ about them.

But his tail, that sneaky, naughty tail is snaking up my thigh. He might be interested in his book, but it's got other ideas. "What d'ya want, darlin?"

Anything, anything he wants, any position, any combo. If he wants to top me, that's cool, not like him, but cool, if he wants me to fuck him? That's what we'll do. If he just wants to cuddle, whatever, it's up to him, it always is. But he has to tell me. Mind reader, I ain't.  
I ruffle his hair. "What does my beautiful lad want?" Gettin' on thin ice, he can be a bit touchy about me callin' him 'lad' or 'boy' but I've got a hundred years on him; he's always gonna be a kid to me. He's not so keen on bein' called 'beautiful' either, but he is, damn it.

He tilts his head up to look at me. "You." He breathes, soft, sultry, those glowing eyes, twin lamps in the gloom. "I want you."

I shiver at his tone; he's lost a lot of that soft accent over the years, but not all of it. "Do you now?" He puts the book down. Aha, we're gettin' serious.

He moves, fluid, graceful as a cat (but we can't say that; not allowed), I'm being stalked by this suddenly magnificent creature where a moment ago there was a sleepy, if athletic, bookworm.  
No clue what's triggered this, but so not complaining. He places a hand on either of my shoulders and rises up, pinning me beneath brings his head down and nuzzles my neck, those sharp little fangs, not breaking the skin but I can still feel them. I run my hands down his lean, muscled back then up under the thin sweatshirt. I grasp the hem and he leans back and raises his arms to allow me to take it off him. Nice, now I have an armful of muscled fur. He goes back to my neck and I start rubbing his back, smoothing the silky pelt.

Talented fingers are working on my shirt, then he's worrying a nipple with those sharp teeth. I hiss; ah, damn that's nice. He finds the other nipple with his hand and pinches, hard. He's not interested in pain, in giving or receiving it, he's not biting hard enough to really hurt, but he knows how to play me. I groan and my jeans are getting real tight. He rocks his hips, grinding himself against me.

"Ah, fuck." I'm trying to keep it quiet, but he's awful good at this.

There's voices in the hallway, the clatter of feet and someone switches the lights. Fuck! But then, the crack of imploding air and a headrush like no other and were not in the lounge, we're in his bedroom.

But it's broken the mood, he's still on top of me but now he's giggling, like a schoolboy. I grin and ruffle his floppy hair.

"That was a close one, Elf."

"_Ja_, we could have scandalised someone with our deviant behaviour." He clicks his teeth in disgust. "_Verdammt_"

"Huh?" Erudite, ain't I?

"I left 'Sons and Lovers' downstairs."

I shrug and envelop him in an embrace, start to build the mood back up. "Pick it up later, we've got more important things to think about. I want to fuck you now, so damn hard, you beautiful, wicked man." I breathe into his ear. "I'm gonna spread you so wide and pound you so deep, ya' wont be able to sit for a week."

His eyes are huge, the golden glow is almost enough to read by. See, he might not be good at dirty talk, but I'm very, very good at it.

"Oh." He's enjoying what I'm doing, an' what I'm sayin' an' my jeans are gettin' tight again.

Sure if they read his book they'll get an education. But me? I'm workin' on summat a bit more hands on; listnin' to my Elf get happy, and maybe a bit loud.


	3. Chapter 3 Gustare

**Gustare**

"... so Hank and I decided, Sage is Athena, I think Scott and Jean are Zeus and Hera but Hank thinks that's Eric and Charles..."  
"And here's me, thinkin' you brain boxes had intellectual discussions, yer' no better than high school kids, just with longer words."  
"Humph." He stops what he's doing with a huff of irritation. Which is a bit of a shame, as what he was doin' was stroking my cock. He looks up me with an arched eyebrow, I run my hand up the shapely, muscled ass near my face, by way of apology. Apology accepted, he takes my cock in his mouth. Deep, deep in his mouth, I was enjoying stroking the blue velvet over his balls, but being deep throated is _very_ distracting.  
"Fuck. Oh, fuck." My hips surge forward but he's so goddamn good at this, he moves with me, one hand on the root and the other on my balls, working my cock with his throat. I don't last long, I come like a freight train and he swallows it all.  
"Gahhh!"  
I gasp for air, while he lies back down on me, as though I'm his own private pillow.  
"Fuck. Elf, who the fuck taught you how to do that?" I start stroking the hard beautiful curves of muscle again.  
He looks over his shoulder at me, coyly. Coy, my hairy ass.  
"Why Mr Howlett, I believe you did?"  
"What?"

"You taught Kitty to be a ninja." He bats those pretty eyes at me. "You taught me to be a courtesan."  
"Did I now? Come'ere, then, you beautiful courtesan you."  
I roll us over, so he's under me. Once I've got him on his back, I slide onto the floor on my knees, pulling him to the edge of the bed, gives me lots if access.

I reach for his balls again, take them in my mouth. Maybe I did teach him, far as I know, he doesn't go with any other guys. Women, yeah, loads of women, but I think I'm it when it comes to men. Cool.  
Me? Well I don't much care, mostly I like women but what does it matter, really, good sex is good sex. Kurt an' me, we have fun together. That's all there is to it. He makes me smile, makes me laugh, we make each other laugh.

Weird, blue velvet covered balls, long, slim blue-purple cock in a nest of fuzz, not pubes, he's definitely unique but what does it matter, most guys junk looks weird. It all works like it should, an' the fur holds the scent, love that, an' he tastes good, musky, masculine

Takes a bit of spit to get his balls wet, take one in my mouth while I push his foreskin back, gently with my hand, he's uncut, I move and kiss his shaft, he hums happily, and he tastes of salt and sweat and musk and man.

Taste of him fills my senses, stops me thinkin' for a while as I work his cock, closing my lips over the head and running my tongue in the slit. He's much noisier than me, the hum has become little gasps and soft cries, heh, good for the ego, hearin' him that happy. He should always be happy.  
I take him deeper in my mouth, bein' careful of my fangs, scratching him now would not be a good thing. "Oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh. Ah!" Turns the volume up.  
I gently grasp the base of his tail, and then he's comin', it works, every time.  
Sweet.

And, after when we kiss, I can taste myself on his tongue, I wonder if he can taste himself on me? Or is it just my enhanced senses? But I can't be bothered to ask, it don't really matter.  
All that matters is his warm, willing mouth. He runs his agile tongue over the roof of my mouth and I growl. He pulls back slightly, grins, those sharp little fangs, those laughing eyes. Daring me.  
Ding! Ding! We're up for round two.


	4. Chapter 4 Olfacere

Olfacere

Me and my Kurt are having a little difference of opinion.  
See, he likes me to come up his tight, hot little ass. Likes to feel it in him. Says it makes him feel connected, part of me.  
Me? I like to come on him, on his back, over his balls, up his belly. I ain't that fussy. Just on him, so I can rub it in his fur, mark him as mine, with my scent. I want him to reek of me. Of what we've been doing. I want, I need everyone to know. To know he's mine. Hands off. To know we fuck. To know this beautiful creature lets me touch him, let's me do that to him.  
Oh, I can still smell it when I shoot my load inside, but nowhere near as strongly.

He alway smells fuckin' hot, musky, sexy, it's the fur.  
He doesn't sweat like we do. He sweats like a horse, works himself into a lather. Fresh, it barely smells at all, but if ya' work him hard and he doesn't get clean right away, he gets a sweet musky odour that drives me insane.  
He's aware of this. He hates it. I know he does.  
I know why he hates it; he absolutely hates bein' thought of as an animal. He's a man. A unique man but a man nonetheless. And the fur, the sweat, the smell, singles him out, makes folks think he's less than a man, makes them think he's an animal. He's a man. A kind, gentle, guy. My best friend. And I'd defend him to my dying breath. I'm the animal, I'm the dangerous one.

So yeah, I get it. An' I won't force the issue. But to me, he smells fuckin' hot, particularly when we come back from a job; sweat, adrenaline, cordite, sometimes blood.  
Peeling him out of his uniform, he fuckin' stinks. He doesn't get it. He thinks he smells dirty, he does, a hard workin' man, worked hard. That's the fuckin' point!  
It's damn well mouth watering and it makes me want to bury my nose in his crotch, or to bend him over and take him rough and fast, right in front of the whole team, add the smell of my come to the mix.  
But I don't, Chuck would have a heart attack an' more important, Kurt would be embarrassed. So I behave. Still want to though.

But all the fuckin' showers. Baths. Another shower.  
He spent the first nineteen years of his life in a caravan, nothin' much more than a box on wheels, no plumbing, no frills, with three other people. Before he came to us, he'd bathed with a bucket of water and a flannel. So havin' a bathroom of his own, a bath, a shower he can use anytime he wants, it blew his sweet fuzzy little mind, bless 'im.  
Hah, when we first started this shit, he wrecked the plumbing of the whole feckin' Mansion, fillin' that big ass tub of his. Chuck had to get a whole new boiler system fitted.  
But an hour? In a bubble bath? Reading a book? That's weird.

Hey, showers can be fun, good, clean fun, when he's slippy and wet. Oh, yeah, he's supple, too, athlete, ya' wouldn't believe the positions he can be comfortable in, and he doesn't weigh much  
His legs round my waist, arms round my neck. I brace my legs apart and fuck up into the warm wet space between our bodies, as the hot water beats on my back. The sweet musk of damp fur rising from him and the friction is a great combo. Then his tail snakes round my waist to pull me closer, the spade of it runs between my butt cheeks and I grunt as it starts to fuck me. Just the tip, the whole spade is bigger than my hand, that takes prep, but the tip, yeah, get it in there. Dirty, dirty boy, it's part of what I love about him, he's got imagination. I come up his stomach, hittin' as far as his chest, with a happy grunt.  
He's been watchin' my face the whole time and we kiss, long and slow, while the water, sadly washes the scent of my marking him away.

But I'll give him this, he does look darn pretty when he's all damp and freshly showered.

So, he'll probably win this one. 'Cos when you know why he wants to be clean, when you know what it means to him, then, well, how can I argue? Him being happy trumps my macho instincts, goddamn' it.  
But I still like it when he smells of me.


	5. Chapter 5 Tangere

Tangere

Soft, soft fur, over hard, hard muscle.

I bury my face in the warm fur of his belly, just above the pubic mound. Where it's long, sweet, musky. My sweet, soft lad. I miss him when we're apart, when I start to forget. I forget how fuckin' beautiful he is, how he feels under my callused hands.  
How can I forget this?  
Running my hands across his flanks, down the curve of his spine, the fur against my cheek is soft, not wiry like a dog, soft, like a cat. But you have to be careful not to say it. Not out loud.

My hand grasps the base of his tail and he makes a little noise, I feel the vibration of his stomach muscles under my cheek. His tail's an extension of his spine, it's very sensitive. My other hand strokes the patch of longer hair just above the tail, scritches it, gently. He wriggles. I hide a smile in his belly. I know just how to touch him. I feel his cock start to twitch. Yeah, like that, pretty boy.

I know folks think I just throw him down on the bed and stuff my cock up his ass. Wham bam, you know the rest. They have no damn idea. Real anal isn't like in a porno, physically or in yer head. If we want a quickie, there's plenty of other things to do. We only _fuck_ fuck when we've the time, the energy, the lube. It's part of what makes it special. And it's real important to me that I don't hurt him. Real important. 'Cos he doesn't go with other guys, he's tight, he's always tight, it'd be easy to hurt him, I'm a big guy, a strong guy, my cock's big an' thick and I could damage him easily.  
So when I do fuck him, we make sure he's relaxed an' ready.  
An' fingering him, good and proper, is fun too.

I keep eye contact as I slip a finger into him. Folks think his eye are hard to read bein' kinda' glowy, but not to me, not when were together like this.  
I'm in to the knuckle now, gently curl it up, feelin' for the sweet spot, just like with a gal. No different to my precious Mariko really, just needs the lube. An' just as worth it for his reaction when I hit it, when he arches his back and gasps. We do that for a bit, my other hand stroking the fur on his belly. His cock starts to get hard and I take it in my mouth, not really blowing him, just givin' it somewhere nice an' warm an' wet while my finger does most of the work.  
Come for me, sweetheart. Good lad. Good boy.  
See, he's nice an' relaxed now, so more lube an' two fingers, gentle like. Take our time, there's no rush, that feels good? Yeah.  
We like it face to face, like to watch each other. I can get deeper doggy style an' sometimes that's good, but usually, we want to see each other. On my lap is another good one, 'cos he's so flexible, so supple, but tonight, it's with him on his back, me over him, the old fashioned way.  
I withdraw my fingers, slowly, line up my cock, more lube, much more lube, then I gently mount him. Ah, that's good, that's tight, even though he's relaxed. Fuck.  
He's looking into my face, naked, honest, trusting.

See, I want, I need him to know he's wanted, he's needed. He's important to me, to us.  
So many people have hurt him over the years, hate him, just 'cos he looks different to them. I need him to know he's safe now, valuable, desirable, beautiful. An' I can't do it in words, not properly. But when I run my hands over him, caress him, when he relaxes and lets me, then we can connect without the words. He's not just a good fuck, well, he is, but he's more than that, he connects me to my humanity, to reality, he grounds me in the sensual, in the sensation.

He's relaxed enough now that I can start moving my cock in him. I start to roll my hips, deep, deeper, ah sweetheart, my lovely lad. I keep my hands running over his hips, his flank, soft fur, strong muscle.  
When I come, it's deep, deep inside him. He keeps those spectacular eyes on my face, the whole time, his hand caresses my cheek. My soft, gentle Kurt, I'd not have him any other way.

He touches me in ways no one else can. He touches my soul.


End file.
